


The Best Present

by fritz_winky



Series: The Companion Series [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Sex, Blindfolds, Drunk Handjobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fritz_winky/pseuds/fritz_winky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>01x05.  A small scene set moments after Porthos shoots a melon off Aramis' head.</p>
<p>
  <i>It takes a few moments to Aramis’ brain to digest that Porthos is not, in fact, leaning in to kiss him, and a few moments more to comprehend what Porthos has just said.  His smile fades considerably as Porthos glances around for support.  With an amused snort, Aramis takes another drink of wine and leans in, smirking as he presses his lips to Porthos’ ear.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“How about,” he says, “we try something else blindfolded?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Present

The melon bursts in a sticky wet mess over Aramis. He opens his eyes to the sound of the cheers and hollars, finding Porthos in his drunken haze and giving him an impossibly bright smile. After all, it’s always good to live to see another day, but he adores the way Porthos grins when he’s let down his defenses. It’s the sound of Porthos’ hearty laugh that Aramis follows, stopping only to grab some wine to swallow down. He has every intention of kissing Porthos nothing short of breathless for the excellent shot he just made, but first he holds out the wine.

“How about we try it blindfolded?”

It takes a few moments to Aramis’ brain to digest that Porthos is not, in fact, leaning in to kiss him, and a few moments more to comprehend what Porthos has just said. His smile fades considerably as Porthos glances around for support. With an amused snort, Aramis takes another drink of wine and leans in, smirking as he presses his lips to Porthos’ ear.

“How about,” he says, “we try something else blindfolded?”

Now Porthos seems to have some problems catching up, but when he does, his grin is hard to miss. He lets out a loud rumble of laughter and takes the wine from Aramis, then hauls Aramis over his shoulder to a new round of cheering. It’s nothing new among any of them, especially those that know Porthos, and the likelihood of the gesture being remembered come dawn is slim. Next to them, Athos shakes his head but can’t hide his chuckling, and d’Artagnan still feels a bit like a chaperone somehow.

Aramis lets out a delighted sort of yelp before he laughs, saluting to his friends as he’s carried up the stairs to one of the hotel’s rooms. There’s a moment where Porthos nearly bangs Aramis’ head on a post, though through the fit of giggles neither seems to notice. They stumble once Aramis has his feet planted on the floor. To steady them, Porthos shoves Aramis against the wall. He realizes this is actually a good time to make with the kissing, and Aramis doesn’t seem to be complaining.

The kiss is messy, unrefined. It tastes like good wine and melon, and Porthos gets distracted by the sweetness, trailing his mouth up Aramis’ jaw to lap up the juice that’s trickling down to his neck. Aramis is torn between letting out a pleased sigh and giggling again. The sound bubbles in his throat in a strange sort of mix that Porthos decides he actually likes the sound of.

“Mm, you’re always the best birthday present,” Porthos murmurs, still seeking out traces of the exploded fruit.

“You never remember your birthday presents. That’s not saying much.”

“Well, I bet you’re always the best birthday present.” Porthos bites at Aramis’ earlobe and smirks, pulling back to give Aramis a shamelessly predatory look. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, then.”

Aramis smiles easily, reaching to pull Porthos back to him so he can kiss the smirk off his face. “Why am I the one being blindfolded?” he asks, with no real argument behind it.

“Because,” Porthos replies, punctuating his words with little sloppy kisses, “s’my birthday. And I like looking at you.”

Digging around his pockets, Porthos pulls out his bandana. He holds it up to Aramis, presenting it to him as if it’s some new thing he’s just acquired and not something they’ve used for this before.

“Do you want to tweak your moustache before this or are you ready to go?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Aramis chides, smiling even as he says it. He lets Porthos wrap the fabric over his eyes a few times, sharing a lingering kiss while it gets tied into place. He stays still as Porthos undresses him, then stands there, exposed and on display, while he listens to Porthos undress himself. He hears a bit of stumbling and frowns, though Porthos grumbles that he’s fine and curses a desk that Aramis hadn’t even noticed was there, and Porthos takes his hand to lead him over to the bed.

They topple gracelessly on to the mattress, neither of them wondering or caring who’s room they’ve taken as their own. Their legs and arms wrap around each other, and, even blindfolded, Aramis knows Porthos well enough to find the exact spot on Porthos’ collarbone to sink his teeth into. The groan it gets is throat and uncensored, which Aramis takes pride in, because Porthos so rarely allows himself to do that. In turn, Porthos gives Aramis’ hair a sharp tug.

“Sticky,” he mutters, pressing his lips to any part of Aramis he can.

There’s some uncoordinated shuffling and shifting and laughing until Porthos has Aramis properly beneath him. He takes a moment to be very pleased with himself for landing such a man before reaching for the bedside table that doesn’t exist in this room. There’s a pause while Porthos looks around in confusion until he remembers they’re not in their own apartments.

“Haven’t got anything.”

Aramis can’t see Porthos, but, judging by how put-out he sounds, he can picture all too well the pout on the other man’s lips. He reaches up his hands and gropes blindly at the air until one smacks Porthos on the side of the face, then he brings the other hand over to pull Porthos down to him.

“Don’t care,” he replies, pressing their lips together in what’s probably meant to resemble a kiss.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Porthos passes his hand over Aramis’ face to shut him up. “S’other ways to make due. Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite present.”

They both share a grin, even though Aramis isn’t really looking at Porthos, as Porthos stretches himself out half on top and half beside his friend. He runs his hand over Aramis’ stomach, down his hip, trying to be teasing and coy but discovering he has no patience for it. He’s too drunk for any finesse and too aroused to want to waste time. He can see Aramis flexing his fingers into the bedclothes, no doubt trying to figure out what Porthos is planning on doing. Probably just as impatient, really, Porthos thinks.

Not quite liking how ungentlemanly it would be to keep Aramis waiting, Porthos shifts closer. He settles one arm up above Aramis’ head so he can tease the hair that’s becoming crunchy from the fruit juice. The other hand he uses to wrap around their erections, holding them together as he clumsily tries to find a grip and rhythm that works for them.

Aramis doesn’t notice if it’s lacking any technique. The friction and the feeling of Porthos against him is enough to reduce him to a state of moans and little sounds that do all sorts of things to Porthos.

“Wish I was going to be able to remember how you look right now,” Porthos breathes, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Aramis’ shoulder. “Always like the way you look.”

Aramis laughs, shaky and breathless. He’d like to reply with something clever, but Porthos’ voice has taken on the low, rumbling quality that makes Aramis week in the knees – which is probably why he usually ends up on them whenever he hears it. But since he’s lying down, instead he arches up into Porthos’ hand, causing both of them to groan in unison. Aramis brings his hand up to help and Porthos bites down on Aramis’ shoulder.

The next few moments become frenzied as they work their hands over each other. Aramis comes first with a choked sound that eases into a whimper, and Porthos is not far behind him. Porthos struggles to catch his breath and stop the room from spinning, but when he rolls on to his back, he grins up at the ceiling.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime. When we’re better prepared.” He waits for the little amused chuckle that Aramis always gives him when he says these things. Probably, Porthos thinks, an agreement will follow. “Aramis?” Frowning, Porthos looks over at the man in bed with him. “Aramis.”

Porthos looks over his friend, silent and unmoving save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Porthos blinks. He thinks he should be offended, maybe, that Aramis has fallen asleep on him so suddenly, but it’s hard to be upset at Aramis for anything. Still, Porthos scoffs as he rolls over to kiss Aramis on the cheek before he stumbles off the bed.

Outside, the sounds of the party have died down. Porthos thinks of where he can go have an after-party while he gets dressed. There’s got to be a few places he can still get himself a drink or two, but, as he makes his way down the stairs and notices that everyone seems as knocked-out as Aramis, Porthos supposes it’ll have to be a solo endeavor.

Well, he thinks, stumbling out of the garrison, at least he’s got this extra melon for company.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick one. The episode was a bit heavy in regards to the feels, so I just wanted to write something a little fun to counter that.


End file.
